People Person
by Kawaii-kuro
Summary: "He knew the city like the back of his hand; it was his. Always had always been his, but sometime after he became the last one living in it, it somehow felt official. "
1. Man on a Ledge

Happy Halloween! This story is has zombies and it will contain sex... But not zombie sex, because that is disgusting. Chapters are super short and will be updated weekly until the story is done. When will the story be done? I don't know. Stop asking questions. THIS IS WHY WE CAN'T HAVE NICE THINGS!

* * *

Robin had never been so thrilled to hear a gun firing. _Gunfire_ meant _people_. And _People_ meant _life_.

He ran down a deserted alleyway, lunging at the inside corner and shimmying his way up with a series of well-placed movements. He'd always been agile and fairly strong for his size. Despite losing quite a bit of weight over the past months, he was still in decent shape - at least physically.

Mentally, though… well, he couldn't be too hard on himself, could he? It's hard to say you're sane when the only person around to say it _to_ is yourself… and telling yourself you're not crazy is exactly what crazy sounds like. But maybe that would change. Hopefully. God, please, hopefully. He sprinted across rooftops, leaping over gaps between the buildings and ducking under pipes and wires. He knew the city like the back of his hand; it was his. Always had _always_ been his, but sometime after he became the last one _living_ in it, it somehow felt official.

He ignored the tears that crowded his eyes as he ran, bearing the sting of the wind as he took one final leap into the air. He held his breath, pulling a grappling from his belt and firing it at a lone crane that stood like a skeleton in his dead city. Robin counted in his head as he swung down to the significantly lower rooftop. He had one grappling left after this, about ninety feet of cord, that wouldn't be enough to get him back onto the taller rooftops, but he could probably get into a nearby window if he made a clean shot. Yeah… he could make it and guide the other person to climb over too, if they were able - But first things first: find whoever was shooting and get them to safety.

He skidded to a halt on the edge of the building, giving him a birds' eye view of the courtyard below- and the man standing in the middle of it! He was fiddling with his gun while a small mob of the dead walked closer to him backing him into a corner. Robin didn't think twice, he pulled one of the sniper rifles from his back and crouched down, taking aim through the scope and firing at the rotting bastards. The bullets ripped easily through the skulls, but the sound was no doubt attracting more of them- or at least the ones that could still hear.

"Shit! No- no- no." He whispered in a panic as more of the dead came through the courtyard, clawing and groaning. The man seemed to still be toying with his gun, which was apparently jammed. "LOOK OUT!" Robin yelled, surprised when the man threw the gun aside and pulled a sword from his back. Shit. There were _way_ too many to fight off with just that. What the hell was he thinking? "Just RUN! GET TO HIGHER GROUND!" His voice was filled with a desperate plea as he yelled, feeling tears streaming down his cheeks.

To his horror, the man charged forward and swung; but horror turned to surprise when the swing took out three of the dead with a single swipe. Clean cuts right through the bridge of the nose on each of them. This man was good… He had to be to have survived this long. Good and, of course, _lucky_.

The teen continued firing as the man fought, ripping through heads like crushing grapes under foot, but Robin knew it wouldn't be enough. He felt his chin trembling as his scope moved from head to head, glancing now and again at the man below.

"Shit… _shit_…" Robin half cried, half prayed for the empty city to just… just not take this man. Just give him _one_ person.

And that is precisely when the dead closed in, surrounding the man from all sides. He kept swinging his sword, taking them down in droves, but Robin could see their filthy hands grabbing at the man, pulling his hair and his clothes. Robin didn't even think. He certainly didn't rationalize. He simply pulled out his grappling, the last on his belt and the only way to escape the rooftop safely, and fired it to the ground below.

"CLIMB!" Robin begged, the tears streaming down his cheeks. Before he could scream _please_, the man grabbed the cord and pulled, jerking the teen forward. Robin steadied himself on the aging banister and felt his heart rise into the back of his throat as he choked back a manic cry as the grappling shook in his firm grasp, cord bouncing as the man climbed, ascending quickly in a way that indicated skill and practice.

When the man finally reached the summit and pulled himself to the rooftop, Robin let out a strangled gasp, his entire body shaking as he let out a painful, lonely laugh. The man was on his hands and knees, breathing and laughing as well, though it sounded far more controlled than the teen's.

"H-Hey," he managed numbly and let the used grappling slip from his fingers. He fell to the painted rooftop next to his spent device, a sudden rush of emotions that he was not at all prepared to handle. His smile, wide and quivering, fell slowly when he saw the blood running from the man's leg. "No, no, no…" he pleaded to the man, and his dead city, and the desperate feeling of hope leaving him once again as he realized the man had been bitten.

"Hello, Robin."

The voice made the teen stop dead in his lamentations. The terrified blue eyes gazed at him with fear and hate as the hero came to a horrifying conclusion.

He had just wasted his only means of escape on Slade.

* * *

Robin's a sucker. That's a joke because it's Halloween. Halloween = candy = sucker.  
Laugh or I will punish you. That is also a joke, because puns.

This is what happens when I'm left to my own devices.


	2. Trigger Finger

A/N: Based on the opening A/N of chapter one, many readers guessed that Slade was immune. What you didn't take in to account was that I only said there wouldn't be zombie sex. I never said _anything_ about _regular_ necrophilia.

* * *

"Oh, fuck."

"Language, _hero_," Slade laid back, propping his leg on the banister and simply letting the blood trickle down his thigh.

Robin shook his head vehemently as he choked on sounds. They weren't quite words, but somehow they were almost as distinguishable as whole sentences. Finally, something coherent escaped his lips as he rose to his feet and pointed the barrel of his freshly drawn pistol. "FUCK YOU!"

"Glad to see you're alive. We figured as much- or rather, _I_ did. Bruce wasn't sure you had it in you… the true, unbridled desire to live, to _win_, at all costs." He chuckled, "I knew better."

The pistol shook in Robin's hands as it pointed squarely at the bridge of the man's nose and around his forehead. "Bruce?" He asked, a hopeless curiosity in his voice. In the old days, such an admission would have struck fear in his heart, but in a dead world, no identity was sacred. "Is he dead?"

"Last that I saw, no. Shit shape, but alive."

"How long?"

"Five days."

"Where?"

"Gotham."

"How did you get here?"

"Drove, mostly. Plenty of cars along the way."

"Why?"

"Well, the trains are out of order, and I don't care for flying."

"Why are you _here?_" Robin clarified with a growl, barrel still trained on the man's forehead.

"Because I knew you would still be alive," Slade smirked with an absolute arrogance that made Robin's blood boil.

"Why isn't _Bruce_ here? Why did he stop _looking_ for me?" He hated that he couldn't hide the pain in his voice.

Slade gave a low chuckle, "He wondered if you saw his fly abouts. He never saw you. Never found a signal."

"I hardly had the _chance_!" Robin growled, tears streaming down his cheeks again. "He never flew over the same spot twice, never low enough to see me when we were close! He never slowed!"

"Limited fuel and unpredictable wind from the buildings. He was always flying blind, all his toys are down or broken… Why didn't you make fire?"

"I was never is a safe enough location when he came. Always too near the dead, or trapped inside a building."

"Why didn't you rendezvous at the Tower? He said he stopped there and dismounted several times."

"I… never made it close enough," Robin grit his teeth and sniffled wiping away his tears with a dirt-covered arm. "And I stay away from there… if I can…"

"Yes, he told me about your team. My condolences."

Robin gave a short laugh and a quivering smile. "So, what now? You're as good as dead, and I can't get off this roof."

Slade sat up, "What? Why not."

"Wasted my last cable on you," Robin shrugged, the tears starting to dry, though he felt like he was still crying. "The maintenance hatch is locked from the inside, and this building is full of dead people. Even if he managed to shoot through the lock, we'd run out of ammo on the inside. Can't climb down to ground level with the overhang on this building, and the fire escape was blown by a group of survivors to keep the dead from coming up. We're stuck."

"How many bullets do you have left?" Slade asked quietly.

"Enough… if I wanted to end it that way," Robin sniffled again and looked out into the distance. The sun was beginning to set over the ocean, leaving a dazzling pattern in the waves that could just be seen through the gaps in the building and the small wisps of fog.

"Do you want to?" his asked in the same low, calm voice that used to make Robin's hair stand on end. "I could do it for you…"

Robin looked back to the villain with a glare. "_Fuck you_. I would sooner become one of _them_ then die at your hand, Slade."

"Good to see you still have your fighting spirit," Slade chuckled, rising to his feet and taking a good look around. "Because I'm not about to go out, either."

"You don't really have a choice," Robin growled, pistol still aimed at the man's head. "You've been _bitten_. You'll _change, _and I _will kill you_."

"Sorry to disappoint," Slade gave another smirk and motioned to his leg, still bleeding, but not festering as it should have been, "but _I'm immune_."

* * *

A/N: Bam! Total twist, amirite? You NEVER saw that coming. You know what else you don't see coming? Chapter 3 next week. It's going to sneak up on you like a sneaky thing. Like a cat. Like a sneaky cat. I wish I could take a nap.


	3. Post

A/N: I'm going to bed after posting this. This week can get rabies and die.

Edit: Thank you to Wynja for helping me find and correct some errors. May you never get rabies.

* * *

Robin stared blank-faced at Slade. "In that case, I should probably stop trying to figure out if I can weave a rope from your innards, shouldn't I?"

"Well," Slade gave a little chuckle and watched the teen lower his gun, noticing that he kept his finger on the trigger. "I suppose it would be foolish to rule out that possibility entirely… But I'd prefer that we try _this_ first," the villain produced a long, thin box from his shoulder bag.

"And what is _this_?" Robin asked mockingly. Whatever it was, it looked ridiculous. I was about the length of his forearm, and looked like bits of metal that were slapped together with minimal flame and maximum duct tape. There were a few buttons, or dials, Robin wasn't really sure, and exposed wires dangling from the top of it.

"Transmitter," Slade answered. "Primitive, but functioning."

"Can I talk to Bruce?" the teen asked, anxiety showing through once more.

"Not in the way you're hoping to, no. It can transmit and receive basic signals only. Monotone beeps, not even clear enough to use Morse Code. The channels don't hold steady, and it can't' hold a charge worth a damn."

"Oh, yeah, this is totally going to work," Robin rolled his eyes.

"Bat's side is a lot more reliable. Being stationary helps. He's hulled up in his cave," Slade reached for the teen's belt and Robin quickly raised the pistol to the bridge of the man's nose, glaring suspiciously. "Relax," the villain spoke soothingly in that perfect, controlled calm that Robin always hated. "I need your bo-staff to conduct the signal. I'd been using my sword, but I left it down there inside the collarbone of a very tall dead man."

"Don't make it sound like you did it on purpose. Immunity or not, they would have eaten you alive without my help."

"I assume you are asking for some type of thank you?"

"No, I'm asking you to return the favor by getting us off this damn rooftop. Quickly."

"We have a decent shot at part of that request, but chances are that we're stuck here for the better part of two weeks. Took me five days to get here, and I'm in pique condition both mentally and physically. Bats is not."

"About that…" Robin seemed to hesitate for a moment, struggling to find the right words until finally blurting out, "What's wrong with Bruce? I can tell he's hurt, but how bad?"

"He's mental. Always was, if you ask me… He had a camp of survivors at his mansion. Good size group from the _remains_. Things were going well at first, from what I gathered. People were working together and keeping each other safe. The grounds were secure from the dead, and the soil was rich enough to farm. But winter hit them hard, and early frosts killed off big portions of their crops. Once food became scarce, they started to turn on each other. A first it was just small fight over rations. Theft and the fistfights, things like that, nothing big… But when even the most basic supplies ran thin, the fights turned bloody and devastating. Rivals gangs formed among the survivors, and apparently executions between groups were no longer an acceptable form of punishment for perceived crimes. Bruce managed to keep some semblance of peace from time to time, but then the daughter of one of the gang leaders wound up dead, and all hell broke loose. The girl's group managed to capture one of the dead that was wandered on the perimeter fence, kept it in rolled up sheets and rags and then unleashed it at night on the enemy territory. You can imagine how well that played out for everyone."

"Why didn't Bruce _stop_ them? I mean, he had to have… _seen_ this sort of thing coming. Why didn't he put a stop to it? Why didn't he exile the trouble-makers? _Something?_"

"Oh, he did early on. But casting out survivors, only to have them congregate at the fences as a half-rotten corpse, was apparently too much for him. He claims it was hard on the other survivors to see their family members come back like that, and all that bull. He didn't want human blood on his hands. He was just being _soft_. I think he knows that now, but he just won't admit it."

Robin held his tongue for a long moment, pondering Slade's words and the crushing truth that things like compassion were a weakness in a dead world. "What about Alfred?" he asked quietly, very sure that he didn't actually want to hear the answer.

"Only Bats was alive by the time I got there… He mentioned a Butler once or twice, but I never caught a name. Never caught a full story, either, but I can guess that _Alfred_ died early. Either before the survivors came, or soon after they turned on each other and their host."

Robin nodded numbly, looking between the buildings at the shoreline in the distance.

"So, are you going to help me send a beacon, or not?" Slade finally asked after giving the teen time enough to acknowledge an old friend's passing.

"Right… right," Robin shook his head grimly, holstering his gun and pulling out his staff. Slade reached for it, his hands brushing against the teen's knuckles and causing the hero to hold his breath.

As the villain pulled the staff away, Robin released a tiny breath that he didn't realize he'd been keeping. With a frown, he calculated the last time he'd been touched by a human. Or the last time he'd _allowed_ himself to be touched by _anything_. The jump in his chest had surprised him. It was such a simple touch, but it made his heart race. Oh God. He could hardly imagine what a _hug_ would do. The concept seemed so foreign now, though the memory of his last hug felt so fresh.

Beast Boy… he was the last person that gave him a hug. They'd just beaten Cyborg at a video game, and the changeling threw an arm around his shoulders, smiling widely while they both playfully taunted their partner into another round. Starfire floated above them and snapped a picture with her camera. He wanted to laugh at the memory of all the stupid things Star used to take pictures of. Strangers. Clouds. Pets that were not hers. Unusual leaves. Bodily functions… She was popular on the internet, apparently, but Robin never bothered to look it up for himself. His desire to laugh manifested into a frown that Slade ignored when he shoved the extended bo-staff back into Robin's hands.

"Hold that above your head," He commanded stiffly. Robin did as told, noting that the exposed wire tips had been duct-taped to the metal.

"Why am I the one hold this?" Robin half complained. "You're taller."

"Because _you_ don't know the _code_," the villain stated matter-of-factly, pulling a small turn handle from the side of the device and winding it until static started to pour out of the bent wire speaker. He then turned one of the knob dials, carefully, until the static cleared just enough to hear a faint beeping sound that grew into a full screech as Slade made careful adjustments.

* * *

A/N: Rabies is actually pretty terrifying, if you think about it.


	4. Meal Plan

A/N: So, usually when I post anything, I'm too exhausted to make intelligent statements, let alone put them into words. But I've got just enough brain power left to say thank you to everyone that is enjoying this story. I don't always reply to reviews (for the same reason as above - I'm usually stupid tired when I read them) but I'm very glad to know that the story is being enjoyed, and very grateful that you took the time to review. Thank you~

* * *

"That's it?" Robin asked after several minutes passed and only a few series of pain-inducing, screechy beeps were released from the machine.

"That's it," Slade answered. "Now we wait. He knows you're alive, and he's coming here. How he plans to do that is a little beyond me, but he's _resourceful_. I'm sure he'll figure it out."

"What's your best guess for an E.T.A.?"

"I'm guessing over a week. Nine days, probably…" Slade looked over the side of the building and seemed to ponder. "You're wondering about food, aren't you?"

"Among other things. Water. Shelter. Gotham might have had an early freeze, but Jump is feeling it late. The air is wet and the temperature plummets at night. Sometimes the fog rolls in and it freezes… If we're out in that… Well, _you'll_ probably be fine…" Robin sighed, feeling the chill drift in from the shore.

"Time to compare supplies," Slade responded casually as he pulled several bags from his back. Robin only watched as the man unpacked, pulling out a bushel earth-colored plastic bags and several bottles of water, clothing, light rope, two sleeping bags, space blanket, matches, ammunition, basic toiletries, and a variety of knives.

"How many MREs is that… ten?" Robin asked, pointing to the earth-colored bags and feeling his stomach churn.

"Yeah."

"I've got a thirty-eight that'll take that ammo. Are you interested in a trade?"

"Perhaps you misunderstood, Robin. I'm not asking for a trade. We are _sharing_ our supplies."

"I'm _not_ sharing with you," The teen retorted in disgust, minimally cognizant of how childish he sounded, and ultimately unmotivated to act otherwise.

"Why? What've you got that's going to keep you alive for the next nine days?"

"Guns," Robin stated matter-of-factly, pulling the aforementioned thirty-eight from his holster and pointing it at the man's nose. "Unless you want a bullet in your head and an answer to if I can weave a rope from your entrails, then you're going to give me what I want. Right now, that's your food."

"You gave more convincing threats when you were in _tights_," the man shook his head and gave a slight smirk. "As a gentleman, I won't point out that the second you're asleep, I'd be able to turn that muzzle on you... I'm guessing you didn't have to fight many _humans_ to survive this world."

Robin kept silent for a long while, frowning as Slade grabbed the topmost bag and ripped it open before separating the smaller packets contained inside and getting to work on preparing the food.

Bruce wasn't the only one to create a safe house. His team had gathered survivors and brought them to The Tower. Having the Titans to keep order probably saved their group from falling to the same discourse as the Wayne Manor survivors… but in the end, it didn't really matter…

"How did it happen?" Slade asked, "Your team?"

"I don't want to talk about it," the teen answered resolutely, squeezing the peanut butter onto the bread and shoving a bite into his mouth. He chewed roughly, finding his tongue suddenly very dry, but ultimately sated. The taste of overly-processed and preserved food was a lot better than some of the rot he'd endured. The city had small caches of salvageable food here and there, but they had collected and stored a majority of the non-perishable and emergency rations at The Tower. He'd gone back a small handful of times, but could never bring himself to go inside.

"I saw them, you know," Slade said quietly. "Like Batman, I checked the tower first."

"You didn't…" Robin froze, wide eyed and frightened, "To them, I mean… you didn't…"

"Take them out? No. Would have been a _kindness_, but I wasn't there as an act of _mercy_. I came here to find _you_. Once I confirmed that you weren't there, I left."

"What made you so sure that I wasn't dead?" Robin asked, trying carefully to change the subject.

"Because I _know_ you, Robin. I've seen the darker sides of your personality, and I know what you are capable of. You and I were built to _survive_ chaos like this."

"I'm nothing like you," Robin glared, though it would have been slightly more menacing if he'd put down the peanut butter first. "And I'm certainly not _built_ for this _hell_."

"The corpses in your basement present a conflicting argument," Slade smiled politely.

* * *

A/N He says that as if there isn't an abundance of dead bodies EVERYWHERE. It is the ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, Slade. Geez.


	5. An Expert Opinion

A.N. Whoa, shit, almost forgot to post tonight! It's a little late, and I'm still in the middle of a RAGING craft night with my buds, so I'ma get back to it and let you awesome people go about your business.

* * *

"Care to tell me what you found through your research?" Slade's smile was calm as he busied himself with the food, carefully tearing the top off of a rice packet and stirring the contents with a fork.

Robin shoved the rest of the bread into his mouth, glaring at Slade, who simply kept his smile in place and handed the teen the rice packet.

"Nothing helpful. I could only confirm that it was a viral pathogen. It's transferred in bodily fluids with mere hours from first contact to full blown infection… More or less the same things the news said before everything shut down… We only had about two days of television from patient zero."

"Same," Slade replied. "I was out for a run when the first report hit the airwaves. By the time I was returned, over a hundred cases had been confirmed."

"We heard about the first case over breakfast," Robin said grimly, his fork freezing inches above the rice pouch as he remembered the nervous jokes that mingled with plans to set up quarantine zones. He swallowed hard and passed the container back to Slade.

"No. That's one's yours. Starting tomorrow, we'll split every meal."

"I'm not hungry," the hero replied listlessly, holding the packet out to the man and waiting for him to take it.

"Eat," Slade's voice calmly slithered into the teen's ear, daring Robin to glance up and find a dark eye staring into him.

He wanted to argue, but when his stomach let out a long, grateful grumble at the food inside his belly, he really had nothing to argue against. The corner of his mouth twitched in a _fuck-it_ kind of frown before he continued eating.

"You were trying to find a cure, weren't you?"

Robin nodded, swallowing again and stabbing his fork into the rice as he stared at the ground. He really didn't want to talk about it, and yet the words poured off his tongue between bites and sometimes while he chewed. It was the end of the world, and he was eating with his worst enemy. What need was there for things like decorum and privacy?

"Yeah. We had a couple doctors among our survivors… Pediatrics and a nutrition specialist… not exactly the best group for an infectious disease… but between the three of us… we managed to isolate the virus… confirm how it was spread… and confirm that it would eventually leach into the water and soil."

"Here," Slade handed him another packet, and the teen found it was shredded beef. "Mix it in. You need some protein."

"Thanks," the younger man managed, ignoring how loudly his stomach purred at the thought. "Of course, all tests on the dead were null. Not once did we get anyone back once they were infected."

"What about immunity?" The man stroked his beard, eye still fixated on the hero.

"We weren't studying that." Robin glared at the rooftop, studying the tiny bumps where the white paint had peeled away.

"The lab notes say otherwise."

"Those weren't my notes," Robin snapped, eyes fixated on the paint with insane fascination, making his mind focus on each tiny little dot, the grains of sand that had been mixed into the paint to create better traction on the roof's surface.

"I'm aware of that."

"Then _why_ are you _asking?_" he shoved another bite into his mouth, fighting the urge to spit it back up as he fought invasive dark memories.

"Just making conversation," the villain replied airily. "In reality, I have a pretty clear idea of what happened. You left enough evidence behind for me to determine that those people – the doctors among them – were _alive_ when you killed them. You used your staff, but you weren't _quick_ about it. You wanted them to _suffer_."

"Well," Robin's voice was snide as he lifted his glare to Slade. "You're the _expert_ on that, aren't you? So, tell me. Did I do a _good job_?"

"Immaculate," Slade purred, esteem reflected in his features. "I could see how you immobilized them first, taking out their knees and ankles… then you hit their hands, taking your time on each, individual finger… knuckle by knuckle… I'm guessing you got tired of their pleas then, because you took out their teeth, making it hard to form words along with causing them a great deal of pain."

"You don't need to describe it to me. I was there," Robin said plainly, letting his gaze fall once again.

"Were you?" Slade asked calmly. I know it was _you_ that did it… but was it really **_you_**?"

Robin's brows raised and fell apathetically as his lips curled with disgust. "I knew what I was doing, and what it _meant._"

"Did you _enjoy_ it?"

"_It wasn't like the disks_," Robin blurted out just as his eyes widened at the realization of what he'd said. He lifted his face, seeing Slade stare back at him calmly, and he knew there was no use arguing or lying his way out of the terrible honesty that had escaped his lips. "It wasn't like being Red X… Or your Apprentice. No matter what I'd done because of you or _for_ you, I knew that it was just… an act. No matter how much I enjoyed it, I knew it wasn't really me. It wasn't who _I_ was. It was exciting. It was _wrong_. But it _wasn't me_…When I killed them… There was no enjoyment there. No right or wrong… Just peace. Permanence."

"You did the right thing."

"I don't need your reassurance."

"I know," Slade's hand landed hard on the teen's shoulder, staying there as his eye gave a long, hard gaze into the icy blue stare of the hero. "And you did the right thing." He waited for some reaction, revulsion to his touch. Distrust, fear, or despair.

Robin only gave a small sigh, looking tired as he muttered something that might have been _thanks_ before his fork dove back into the meal pouch and he continued to eat.

* * *

A.N. Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends! Please enjoy your turkey or turkey substitutes and remember that you shouldn't kill your family on holidays, even though it might seem like the most practical time to do so.


	6. Sleep

AN: I've had a shitty night. I mean, probably not as shitty as Slade and Robin's, but still pretty shitty.

* * *

The night grew cold some time after the last of the sunrays danced over the waves. Robin was surprised to find that one of the sleeping bags Slade had brought with him was actually a tent. And it was the tiniest damn tent he'd ever seen.

"What the fuck is that?" Robin asked as Slade unrolled and popped the tension bars into place.

"I assumed you know a tent when you saw it, circus star."

"It looks like a coffin."

"It's a Bivy tent."

Robin frowned, looking down at the strange little structure and debating with himself if he should ask the next question.

"Does your coffin-tent have the same name as a toilet euphemism?" he asked with a furrowed brow.

"That's biffy. And biffy is a euphemism for _outhouse_, not a modern toilet. In either case, if you shit in my tent, it will be your coffin."

"Well, I'm glad we cleared _that_ up," the teen's voice mocked relief as Slade began to kick off his boots. "I don't think we'll both fit," he said, eyeing Slade's body and the small interior space.

"It's a two-person tent. We'll fit," Slade said as he began to undo his belt. "We'll keep the weapons in my bag. Guns'll stay dry enough in there, and I won't have you ripping holes in the tent with the knives. You can keep your bostaff if you need something to _cuddle_ with."

Robin felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as he watched Slade pull the belt from the loops until the black leather slid entirely free and he coiled it around his large hand. His eyes flickered up to the man's face and saw that he expected some sort of response.

"Are you really concerned that I'll ruin the tent, or just afraid that I'll shoot you while you're sleeping?" He hesitantly pulled his weapons free and placed them inside the bag, keeping a close eye on its location.

Slade let out a small chuckle as he tugged his shirt free and began to pull it over his head. "The tent, mostly. But I suppose I wouldn't put it past you to shoot me if I pissed you off enough."

"I don't think I'd even have to be that mad," Robin shrugged airily before he bent over to untie his boots and slide them off as well.

"Seeing as this is a special occasion, shall we celebrate with a few disinfectant wipes?"

"God, yes, please." Robin answered a bit quicker than he liked. Truth be told, he hadn't had an actual shower since… well, since he was on his own… He'd taken advantage of cold rain and spare water, when he could, but even things like baby wipes were a veritable gold-mine when found.

Slade handed him a few packets with a sly, almost-smile on his lips. The teen's reaction to the small luxury was almost comical as he cradled the packets in his hands and his expression softened. He tore open his own packet and went to work on cleaning the filth from his skin. He was certainly immune, but he needed to be careful not to expose the teen to infection – which meant cleaning off any slime, spit, and blood that the dead hurled on to him.

"Pardon," Slade muttered softly as he dropped his trousers and went to work on the nearly-healed wound, wiping down the faintly teeth-shaped marks.

Robin frowned at the wound as Slade wiped at the mess, his expression distant and pensive as he looked over the wound that should have been a gaping infected mess.

"They'dve loved to study you," he said finally.

"I'm sure you would have stepped in when they started cutting off slabs of flesh," the villain gave a half-smile, simply tossing the dirty cloth over the side of the building and grabbing another.

Robin gave a tiny huff and smirked before he went back to his own cleaning, "Nah… I'd have let them."

Slade gave a dark chuckle, saying nothing until their delegated wipes had been used up and the air became cold and biting. The hero gave a small shiver and crawled into the tent, nestling into the sleeping bag and giving Slade a speculative look.

"Coming or not?" he asked with a raised brow.

"I think I expected some sort of argument as to why I should sleep outside," the man replied with a shrug, his expression still showing doubt as he knelt and tucked his feet inside the bag.

"Too cold to argue," Robin shivered and turned on his side, facing the tent wall and blushing when he felt the man's body sliding next to him, skin brushing against skin until movement settled and heat rolled between the fabric to the hero's shivering body.

"Still cold?" Slade murmured as he zipped up the tiny tent sealing them both inside.

"I'm fine," Robin answered, voice flawlessly covering his unease. "Sorry if I kick you, or something… really not used to sleeping next to anyone."

"Since the outbreak, or before?" his was voice amused as he could practically sense the blush that covered the teen's body.

"I hope I'm smart enough to aim for your mouth when I lash out in my sleep."

"Considering the more _vulnerable_ target you could aim for, I hope you do, too," Slade chuckled and closed his eye, resting his mind and his body as the city let out ambient murmurs of the dead that filled the streets below.

* * *

I don't care if it's only 9:00PM. I'm going the fuck to sleep.


	7. Plan B

A/N: I feel asleep before posting this, but I woke up before I slept through the whole night. That's not important, I just wanted to let you all know.

* * *

"How did you sleep?" Slade asked when Robin finally stirred next to him after a long, cold night.

The teen stretched and stared at the fabric of the tent. Truth be told, he hadn't slept a single night since he left The Tower. The closest he'd ever made it to actual rest was a half-awake stillness and the fleeting micro-sleeps where his body simply shut down for seconds at a time. He hated those moments. They came with a terrifying stiffness that coursed through his body, as if he entered some small paralysis and his mind passed through a black cloud. Worse yet was the jostling that accompanied waking, a painful and sudden stab of reality as if he needed some sort of _reminder_ that his body was still alive.

"Fine," he lied. "You?"

"Same," the villain answered, reaching forward and starting to unzip the tent. "Thanks for not kicking me in the balls."

"Don't get too comfy with the idea that I won't," Robin muttered, putting his hands over his face, roughly massaging the skin and yawning. "So what's the plan for today?"

"Well, I thought we'd start with a nice pot of fresh coffee, read the paper, and maybe do some yoga before we make our grocery list."

"That's it. I'm kicking you in the balls."

"If you don't want dumb answers, don't ask dumb questions," Slade suggested helpfully as he crawled out of the tent and offered a hand to his companion that was promptly ignored.

"It's actually a very valid question," Robin defended. "Bruce might be on his way here, but there's guarantee that he'll make it." He paused, realizing the cruel bluntness of his words. He didn't allow himself to dwell on it. "We need a back-up plan. If he isn't coming, then we need to find a way off this roof."

"Such little faith in the Bat," Slade smirked, zipping their little tent closed. "I wondered what you would have thought if you'd known _I_ was coming."

"Hell. If I'd have known it was _you_, I'd have run the other way," the teen snarked as he walked to the edge of the rooftop and silently began to calculate. "But, really, we need to think up a Plan B."

"I gave this some consideration last night."

"Me too… Just how _good_ is your healing factor?" Robin asked carefully.

"I wouldn't survive the fall. Well, I might – but I'd be eaten before I was in any state to move."

"What about the drop to the fire escape? It's about… I'd guess only about 50 feet."

"You're forgetting about the overhang on this building. I doubt I could gain control of the fall enough to land on it. And if they blew it off the side of the building like you said, then it's likely not very stable. Even if I managed to grab hold of it, there's no guarantee that it wouldn't fall apart and send me straight to those bastards."

"What about your rope? What kind of line is that?"

"It might hold. But there's nothing here to secure it to. You'd have to hold while I climbed down. Not sure that I trust those scrawny arms. No offence."

"Hey, I held the line while you and your fat head climbed up," Robin gave the man a cocky smile, tensing subconsciously as the villain walked to him and peered over the side of the building. He let out the tiny breath he'd been holding and motioned vaguely to the blacked metal that clung to the side of the building, "There's the escape."

Slade's eye narrowed as he peered below, noting a mass of jagged metal and the large pile of rubble that had fallen to the ground. "Look at the blast patterns near the top... The wall itself was blown away, which means there's hardly anything anchoring the bolts. It won't hold."

"Yeah. I was afraid you would say that."

"There's only one option that I can see, and I don't think you'll like it."

"You're right. I don't." Robin answered with a frown. "But I think it's the only other option we have. You would secure the rope from the top, and I would climb down to the top window and swing inside. It'd have to be me… I don't think I could hold the line if you were to swing back and forth."

"I agree. And from there, you would need to go get supplies. Which, I'm guessing those are all at the Tower?" Slade asked, his voice surprisingly respectful, or at the very least not aggressive, which Robin considered impressive.

"Not all of them. I have a cache close by. I'd have to travel on street level, though… That's a practical death wish."

"Any chance the building has any useful supplies?"

"I doubt it. The residents living here took everything with them to the rooftop. We flew them and everything with them back to the tower."

"You might be able to make a bomb. Blow through the roof and I'll come down."

Robin seemed to consider it, "Maybe… but that will draw more of them to us. Even if we were together when we left, we'd still be on the street. With your healing factor… No, honestly, I'd probably do better on my own. I'm smaller and faster… I don't know… we're probably screwed either way."

"Glad to see you're optimistic," the villain smirked.

"I'm just being realistic," he sighed. "I guess I could always shoot you and run away while they eat you."

"That's the spirit," Slade gave a boisterous laugh and ruffled the boy's hair. He expected the teen to pull away, but the hero simply frowned, glaring at the dead swarming below.

* * *

A/N: Do you think that optimism is a good or bad quality during the Zombie Apocalypse? Would it be useful to survival? Discuss...


	8. Plan F

A/N: Holiday hiatus- People Person will continue on January 8th, 2014. I'll be taking a short reprieve to spend time with my family and frantically throw shit in boxes and call it gifts. Not literal shit. At least not for the people I like.

* * *

"There's your sword," Robin said as he pointed to the ground. Slade leaned over the side of the building, searching briefly and letting out a laugh.

"Look at the little bastard," he chuckled at the sight of the tall dead man wandering below, bumping into other dead and occasionally jabbing them with the sword that was lodged firmly in his collarbone. "I don't suppose we could train him to take all of them out."

"I remember when we were trying to brainstorm legitimate plans," Robin half joked, looking discouraged.

"I think the clock officially ran out on those _legitimate_ ideas when you suggested we built a parasail out of the tent," Slade reminded him helpfully. "And don't sound so forlorn, it's only been two days."

"Three," Robin said adamantly. "Three days, two nights."

"Two days, two nights," Slade responded in a civil, but firm tone. "I found you in the evening, not during the day."

"It was before dark. That's daytime," Robin folded his arms, glaring.

"The sun was setting."

"Right, we could see the sun. Day time. I don't know why you're struggling with this," Robin raised a brow.

"I think we're going to need a better way to pass the time," Slade said bluntly. "Because I'm having visions of dangling you over the side of the building."

"Ouch. That's mean. And here I was just having visions of eating all your rations."

"I actually think that's crueler," Slade smirked, finally earning a smile from the younger man.

The three, or _two_, days since their accidental imprisonment had gone relatively well… at least in the sense that they hadn't killed each other. The uneasy alliance held firm through their arguments and snide remarks, and surprisingly even through the moments when a vague façade of civility hung in the air, which was usually only at mealtime.

Robin glanced at their rations. It took some time to finally acknowledge that they were, in fact, sharing everything. He still didn't _like_ the idea. In reality, though, Slade had much more to offer for their particular situation. The hero had mulled over the thousand '_what-ifs_' in his head. What if he hadn't heard Slade's guns? What if he'd stopped by one of his caches first? What if he hadn't used his last grappling to save the man? What if Slade wasn't immune? What if Batman had come instead? What if no one came at all? What if he was really imagining all this? What if he was really all alone?

"Cold?" Slade asked, derailing the hero's train of thought and causing the hero to look up from the rations, startled.

"No. M'fine." Robin muttered.

"You're shaking," the villain stated simply, as if prompting a response.

"Yes, I'm cold then," he answered dismissively. "Sun is low… almost time for our check in."

"It is," Slade answered, glancing over to the odd transmitter and back at the teen, watching his expression harden as he noticed the man studying him.

"What?" he finally snapped, and Slade's eye narrowed predatorily for a moment.

"Just trying to decide what you were thinking about," the villain answered calmly. "Your expression was very… _lonely_."

"Whatever," Robin rolled his eyes and grabbed hold of his bo-staff and extending it. "Prep the communicator. I don't want to miss Bruce's signal."

Slade gave a knowing smirk that enraged the teen, not because the man seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, but because that smirk, for all its callousness, was edged deep with pity.

* * *

A/N: Slade, you caring bastard. Stop it and do sex.  
When will they get to sex? I honestly don't know. I'm letting the boys do what they want in this story, and they're certainly taking their sweet ass time. I guess we'll have to shake things up in the new year~

Happy holidays to all my readers!


	9. Wake

Aaaand we're back! Hope you guys all had (a) great holiday(s) and are ready for the zombie apocalypse to start again. There has been a surprising lack of zombie action for some time (and a lack of action). But first, I need to do this...

* * *

Chapter 9: Wake

* * *

For the first time in countless nights, Robin slept. He knew he slept, based purely on the manner in which he _woke_.

"Get off me – _GET OFF ME!" _He growled, struggling against Slade's body, blood pounding through his wrists as Slade's large hands clamped down on them. His body shook under the man's weight, feeling fevered and frozen all at once.

"Are you awake?" Slade asked in a calm, dark tone.

"Yes, now _get off_!" the teen hissed, still struggling against the man, struggling to decide if he should head-butt the bastard.

"You were having a nightmare," Slade explained calmly.

"No shit - and waking up with you _on top of me_ is such a refreshing change of pace. GET THE FUCK OFF."

Slade, to Robin's relief, slowly loosened his grasp, giving a deadly glare through the darkness before he rolled to the side and allowed the smaller body freedom.

Robin scrambled with the zipper on the tent, growling until Slade, calmly, unzipped the door and allowed him to claw its way out into the cold night air. Once outside, the teen ran to the opposite side of the rooftop, gasping for air as he leaned on the banister.

"Dreamt about your friends, didn't you?" Slade asked, rising from the tent but merely standing like a pillar in the pale light of early morning. He was not the type of man to really _care_ about another person's trauma, but he was certainly _familiar_ with the concept enough to _respect_ it.

"No, I dreamt about rubber ducks. _What the fuck do you think?_" he growled between angry gasps of air, knees shaking until he finally collapsed to the frost covered rooftop. His breath escaped in white clouds, mixing with the light haze of sweat evaporating from his skin. Slade only watched, studying the teen and reaching his own silent conclusions. "Shit," Robin muttered, trying to calm himself as his head swam wildly with invasive, terrifying thoughts. Memories. "Shit, shit, shit…"

"You're going into shock," the villain finally spoke, moving closer and ignoring the glare from the teen as he held up his palm, commanding the man to stay back.

The black brows knit together. "I'm _fine_," he growled between frantic breaths. "Just… my heart won't slow down."

"Look at me," Slade instructed, his voice low and almost gentle if not for the dark edge that never truly left his tone. "Your body is reliving what happened… I can tell that you're trying your damnedest not to remember, but that won't help you now. You have to mentally _take in_ what happened. Ignoring the pain won't change the facts. Your friends are gone."

"Fuck you," Robin shuddered, "I know that. I know they're gone."

"Tell me what happened."

"You… read the notes… You know." Robin sneered.

"Say it."

Robin shook his head from side-to-side, his eyes tightly closed as a chilled sweat ran down his forehead.

"_Say it_." Slade commanded once again, hands grasping the teen's shoulders. His brow rose in surprise when instead of swearing or breaking into tears, the teen simply let out an angry hiss and swung his fists. The man dodged, causing the teen to miss by inches and teeter off balance. Slade did not waste the opportunity. He curled his hand behind the teen's neck and dragged him to the ground, swinging his leg over the smaller torso and pinning the smaller body to the ground.

Robin let out a terrified growl, struggling wildly against the ground as Slade kept a firm grip over the back of his neck – at least until Robin's feet hooked under the villain's chin and pulled back. Rather than risk breaking the teen's neck, Slade begrudgingly let himself be thrown backwards. He turned quickly as he hit the ground, letting his roll guide him into a ready attack form as the teen lunged forward.

"You did this? _Didn't you?!_ Was this all in _your_ _plan_, Slade?" Robin asked mockingly, the pain and terror evident in his voice. "Kill them off? Make them think it was to save them? How are you immune? _HOW?_"

"You're delusional," Slade growled at the teen, calculating the movements and preparing to restrain him once again. One glance in the hero's eyes made it clear that his words were not to reach their target. The boy was mad with rage and pain and fear. Slade dared a smirk, reminded fondly of the old days where they battled on rooftops for different reasons. Robin never listened to him then, either.

The hero was a better fighter in the dead world, but physically weaker. It was easy enough for Slade to put him in another hold, slamming the smaller back into his chest and holding both of the teen's arms in one of his. Robin struggled and spat cursing as he kicked at the man's shins and tried to wiggle free. Slade merely moved each leg in time with the kicks, countering the young man's attacks as he dragged him several feet to their supplies and reach into a secret pocket that he had not divulged to the younger man.

"This might sting," he murmured, biting the cap off of a syringe before jamming it into the teen's leg.

Robin let out a pained scream, jarring against the man repeatedly as the burning liquid rushed through his veins, numbing them and causing his arms and legs to feel infinitely heavier than they actually were. His screams died to whimpers as his body slackened.

Slade gently turned the weakening body in his arms, knowing that Robin would be somewhat conscious for slightly longer than his body was able to move.

"The paralysis is temporary. I've hit you with a heavy sedative." he explained calmly, though unsure of why he bothered. "You'll wake up with a hell of a hangover, but you'll be fine. I have four more of these, and I will not hesitate to use them if you attack me again. The _deal_ was to bring you back _alive_ if weren't already dead_,_ and I _can't fail_."

Robin's vision blurred with tears and an uneasy haze that was pulsing through his body and his mind. He grit his teeth, fighting the urge to sleep as his eyelids fluttered and his head lulled to the side. He could faintly hear – not feel - Slade lifting his body and carrying him away.

"I wish they'd killed me instead," Robin heard a voice whisper in the darkness.

Slade frowned down at the hero as he finally drifted into an unreachable void, gifted with a temporary answer to his wish. Survival was an instinct and a curse, and few men knew that better than him. Robin, apparently, felt the same.

It was too dangerous to simply leave the teen exposed until he came to, and that would certainly be awhile. He knelt down before the tent and slowly cradled the limp body inside. There was little doubt in Slade's mind that the hero _would_ work through his madness in time; Robin was made of tougher things then the memories that haunted him. But they lived in a world that was quick and decisive… If the teen couldn't keep it together when it came time to move, his chances of survival were slim...

* * *

Confession time: I struggled with Robin in this chapter. I feel like I've kind of overused the "I GO CRAZY AT MINIMAL PROVOCATION" characterization with him (*Cough* Sladomasochism *Cough*). He was kind of a hot-head in the show - particularly with Slade - but not to the level I seem to push him.  
But, basically, I needed him to be unconscious for a little bit while I stir the plot (Puns! Yay!), so maybe you'll forgive me this time.

See you next week!


End file.
